I Don't Know Much, But
by ChopRamen
Summary: A man turns up at the FBI building who claims to have absolutely no memory of his life. This is my first REAL stab at fanfiction. I know as much about this story as you do.
1. Advice

"When you see her, you'll know."

I had no idea what Frohike was talking about, but he sure was right. All the way from the bottom of her awful blue pantsuit to her fiery hair, I could tell: that's her.

"Dana Scully?" She stopped walking towards the looming FBI building and turned to me. If possible, her slightly red lips seemed to purse even more.

"Yes?"

"We have a mutual friend. At least, I think so. Do you know Fox Mulder?"

"Yes. He's my partner."

"Oh, good good! I was so worried I just was hoping that you knew him and I kept fretting that you might not and then I thought maybe I've gotten it all wrong, maybe I have the wrong Fox or the wrong one of his companions. Maybe I'm not even looking for a Fox Mulder but a Frank Martin or a Felix Murray. Much more average, those names are. But I most certainly am _not_ in search of average, no ma'am. I want the opposite of average, I want the man who knows everything about all that is not average and far, far beyond! I want-"

"Excuse me, sir. What exactly_ do_ you want with Mulder?" Scully stood questioning the motives of my search for her partner. She mustn't keep staring at me like that, I'm bound to implode.

****

I swiftly marched to the FBI headquarter's main doors and held one open for Scully. "I want his advice, ma'am. Doesn't everyone?"


	2. No Smoking

My eyes wandered to the boring photos of boring people who did boring things in the history of this boring country plastered to the boring walls. Jesus. How many times do we have to learn what is "American" and what is not? I _really_ don't think our children need to be informed of the supposed superiority of Columbus over those such as Karl Marx. And I truly don't understand how we allow the people who teach this nation's-

"I'm not sure I understand. What 'advice' are you hoping to get from Mulder?" Scully interrupted my thoughts. I'm not sure why she presumed they were less important than her questioning of me.

"Well, I'm not sure I should say so. You know, _out here_," I gestured to the many agents shuffling around the main lobby as we entered the FBI building. "Could we possibly go somewhere more private?" I realized that I had been anxiously rubbing my hands together. I mustn't let these people make me so uncomfortable.

"In any case, we'll need to get you a visitor's badge if you're going to stay in the building. Follow me," Scully commanded. She began to walk towards a large mahogany desk and I grabbed her arm before she could reach it.

Scully turned and opened her mouth to protest but I spoke before she could. "No. You can't do that. No one can know that I am here."

"Sir, why would you ever think it'd be a good idea walk into a government building while at the same time wishing to remain anonymous, including to the people you are asking for help?" She paused, considering her next words, "I think it'd be best for you to try to solve your problems without the help of Mulder or I. Have a nice day."

Scully turned and strode towards the elevators, arriving just in time to load in with a few other agents. I'd missed my chance. "Well, this day is off to quite a marvelous start, isn't it?" I said to, quite obviously, myself; though I presume this was lost on the young man who then asked me to whom I was addressing. "No one," I replied, and I was being completely truthful.

Making my way over to the FBI building's main desk, I noticed the lady seated behind it. She nervously sifted through paper after paper strewn about the desk. I began to feel disappointed in how this woman, at much too young an age, was experiencing this amount of stress at work. I considered attempting to find someone else to ask for information, surely I'd just make her situation worse.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman said to me before I could turn and walk away. She looked incredibly flustered, her cheeks turning a bright pink. "I'm very sorry. Truly."

"That's quite alright, miss."

She paused, searching for words. "Is there something you need help with?" Her fake smile fell and she lightly slapped her forehead in frustration. "Of course there's something you need help with. Why else would you be standing here? God, I am so _stupid_!" It seemed to come to her attention only now that she was speaking out loud, "Oh, dear. I'm terribly sorry. Please forgive-"

I held up my hand to stop her from continuing, "That's alright. I most certainly do have a dilemma with which I need your assistance. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of Assistant Director Skinner's office?"

"Oh, um, yes! Surely I can do that! His office is, um..." She quickly hopped on her state of the art desktop and clickedy-clacked away at the keyboard, "... On the fourth floor, room 412."

"Thank you very much, ma'am. I appreciate it." I headed towards the elevators.

"Wait!" The woman called after me, "Did you get a visitor's pass?" I pretended not to hear her words as they echoed off the plain gray walls.

* * *

While cramming into the elevator, many of the agents eyed me suspiciously. I had no I.D. of any kind; no badge displayed, no name tag. However, no one said a thing.

Once the elevator had reached the fourth floor, I headed to room 412. The door embossed with "A.D. Walter Skinner" was not labeled with a number, but I'd obviously found what I was looking for.

Entering the room, I encountered Skinner's secretary. "May I see the assistant director, please?" I asked her.

"He just got out of a meeting. I'll let you know when he's ready for you, okay?"

"Thank you, ma'am." She exited into Skinner's office and closed the door behind her, returning just minutes later.

"You can go in now," she told me.

"Thank you again."

Skinner was not at his desk when I entered, but across the room emptying still smoldering cigarette butts from his ashtray into a small tin wastebasket. A photograph of Clinton hung on the wall to the left of his desk. I pondered whether every current president's photo was to hang in that spot or if this was Skinner's choice.

"Sir?" I heard him say. I turned to the balding assistant director. He was obviously annoyed. Whether with me or some other trouble, I had no clue.

"Hello, Walter Skinner. It's delightful to meet you. I am here to employ your help in locating an agent by the name of Fox Mulder and bringing me to him or him to me. Either would be fine. Perfect, in fact. No, better than perfect. Yes. Indeed. Much better than perfect."

"Well. Alright then," he said gruffly. "I'll call him in. Can you give me a name?"

"Um, Ernest Hemingway?" I replied tentatively.

Skinner appeared confused and then shook his head, "What? No, _your_ name."

"Oh! You asked for a name, I gave you the first one that came to my mind. However, if you are inquiring as to what my name is, I will have to inform you that that is precisely the reason why I am here. You see, it's a very, very long story; and I have in no way the time it would take to explain it to you. This is extremely unfortunate, you see, as I've already been asked numerous times for my name and I'm not sure what to tell them. It's an uncomfortable situation I have on my hands here, as I would guess you might understand now. It's just that-"

"Sir? Are you alright?" He looked at me, I could tell he was genuinely concerned.

I smiled, "Of course. Well, for the most part, anyway."

"Then can you _please_ tell me your name?"

"I don't know it. I already told you, that is why I'm here."

"You don't know your name?" It was a rhetorical question. He didn't believe me.

"You're spot on. It's the reason for which I am searching for Mulder."

Skinner began to pace, face staring at the floor, muttering as he went. "Doesn't know his name. Doesn't know his name..." He suddenly halted and lifted his head to face me, "Could you wait here for a moment. Please?"

"Certainly, sir. I won't move a muscle, I swear."

"Great." He walked briskly out of his office and slammed the door behind him.

I was left to my own devices. I'd have to entertain myself somehow for the next few minutes. This was no problem, as there was plenty to look at. What I settled on observing was the "NO SMOKING" sign sitting atop his desk.

I turned to the waste bin across the room. Smoke was still slowly crawling up towards the ceiling.


	3. The Basement

When Skinner returned, he seemed to have composed himself some. I was idle near the wastebin, the cigarette embers having lost my attention. The assistant director entered the room, seeming cautious, as if he were about to tell me of a very depressing fact.

I reflected on my situation. A man without any sort of identity, or not one that he knew. A man without a name, a home, or friends. The past few days had been tremendously hard. More so than I ever would have imagined after awakening in an alley, without so much as a penny in my pockets. I could not stand for my situation to become any worse.

Thankfully, what Skinner informed me of was considerably uplifting. "Mulder has just arrived at work," He said, his voice even, "He says he'll see you. I'll take you to his office now."

"Oh, that's alright, sir. There's no need for you to escort me there. All I need is a room number and I'll be on my way."

"No, actually, I _do_ need to go with you. Come on," He gestured to the door that had stood ajar since his entry. I walked towards it slowly, baffled as to why I was not allowed to find Mulder myself.

Skinner followed me out the door and back down the hallway to the elevators. I pressed the up arrow button without pausing to inquire the floor on which Mulder's office resided.

"What are you doing? We're going to the basement," Skinner told me as he pressed the down arrow for the adjacent elevator.

"Why? Is Mulder meeting us there?"

"Yes, in his office." His office? In the basement? That couldn't be.

We entered the elevator as the doors slid open. Skinner pressed the button for the only floor above the parking garage. Mulder truly was in the basement, physically and on the FBI food chain.

The elevator made its long descent, it would have cost us less of our valuable time to take the stairs. When the doors opened, we found ourselves in a narrow hallway with only a few slim doors. I heard the whirring of printers and copy machines and faxes coming in.

Skinner lead me to a room that was not even marked with a number. He pushed the door open to find Mulder waiting just behind it.

"So, what brings you to my cave?" Mulder stepped aside to let Skinner and I in. I eyed the posters of UFOs on the walls. Most were obviously fake, but there were some I could not ascertain whether they were garbage or truth.

The room was far below the standards I had expected Mulder's office to be. I was genuinely surprised that Skinner felt he had the right to keep such a brilliant mind so far below others that were inferior to him.

"Seems a bit spooky, doesn't it?" Mulder had caught me examining his poster with saucer hovering over a wooded area, the words "I WANT TO BELIEVE" were written below. However, Mulder had interpreted my gawking incorrectly, it was out of admiration. "After all, that is my name," he told me.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Spooky Mulder, obviously," came a voice from the doorway. Scully had appeared, a displeased look on her face. Lips sour as ever. "Could you two please tell me why he is here? An hour ago he told me no one could know he was in the building. I told him to find help somewhere else."

"Why would you ever tell him that, Scully?" Mulder questioned, but before she could retort he moved across the room to a stack of files. "_I_ know who you are, don't worry," he said to me. He lifted one file from his desk and handed it to me. "Ten disappearances in the last six months. All from D.C.-"

"Ah, so this one's close to home. For once," Scully grumbled.

"Exactly. Ten people missing, and then later found. But the only people who could identify them were those who claimed to have known them. These people had no idea who they were." I turned to see Scully leaning against the doorframe slightly, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

"But I don't having been missing. Did these people have any recollection of their disappearance?" I asked as I opened the manilla folder in my hands.

"None at all. That file is an open case, a man of your description went missing two weeks ago. From inside his house. Doors locked from the inside, no sign of forced entry." I raised my eyes to catch his. He _did_ know who I was. "Now you understand when I say 'spooky'." He winked and turned to a bag of sunflower seeds atop his desk next to the large stack of files.

"But Mulder, we should still keep an eye out for this missing man, he might actually show up," Scully protested.

"It looks to me as if he has," Skinner chimed in. Gesturing to me he said, "We'll try to find a way to make sure this is who we're looking for," then he pointed to the file in my hands,"Until then, this case will remain open. Just to be safe." Skinner turned and exited Mulder's office.

"Don't look so discouraged, Scully. This is a juicy one. All UFOs and little gray men, your favorite," Mulder joked. Picking up his bag of sunflower seeds, he moved to stand next to me. "If I'm correct, your name is Rodney Simon."

"I have two first names?"

"He doesn't even_ look_ like a Rodney," Scully jokingly agreed with me. I smiled at her, hoping she didn't loathe me quite as much as her behavior displayed.

"Do you remember anything? Anything at all?" Mulder asked me, suddenly utterly serious.

I thought hard, trying to recall any memory I might have. "I don't remember anything, but obviously the memory taken from me was selective," I concluded.

"How's that?" Scully asked me.

"Well, I have no idea when my birth-date is, but I can speak English. I can tie my shoes and I have good handwriting, even in cursive. It just seems a bit odd that anything personal would be left out, but the hardware of our society is still present..." My attention shifted to the posters again. I loved the way they overlapped occasionally. And the busyness of Mulder's desk was just phenomenal! I have never encountered someone so passionate about the abnormal, someone so knowledgeable and intelligent and not at all ignorant. This had to be one of my greatest days, but I then realized I had nothing to compare it to, nothing to justify this statement.

My focus returned to the issue at hand. Mulder had been staring at me since I had stopped speaking. "Is there something on my face?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, no," Mulder seemed to be embarrassed. He turned away from me, but then glanced back to ask, "Would you mind if Scully and I talked for a moment?"

"Of course not!" was my reply.

Mulder and his partner stepped towards the doorway of his office. I started to follow them.

"Alone." Mulder clarified sternly, but not at all in a rude demeanor. The two agents left the room without me. I could hear their muffled voices from the hallway, but I could not make out what they were saying. However, I could tell from the tone of their voices that Scully was quite irritated at Mulder and that he was trying to find middle ground between humoring her and myself.

I hadn't meant to start an argument. Obviously this pair was extremely close, a well-oiled machine. In no way was I going to let myself throw a wrench into it.

I exited to room despite Mulder's request. "Thank you for your time, but I don't want to bother you any longer. I'll be on my way. Good day." I nodded at them both and then stepped around to make my departure. I was silently kicking myself for annoying them for this long already, but also for disregarding the help Mulder was obviously willing to give. I would just have to find it elsewhere, like Scully had originally suggested.

I was quite far down the hall when I heard hurried high heels clicking in my direction. Scully rounded the corner and grabbed my hand when she saw I was about to summon the elevator.

"Mulder and I _both_ want to help. I'm very sorry if I made it seem like I don't, I'm not always on board with what cases my partner takes on and how far he decides to go with him. But, please, let us try to figure out who you are. If those files have anything to do with your case then it's obvious that you are not alone." With that, Scully turned and slowly began walking back down the hallway towards the lonely basement office.

****

I looked down at my hand, just an inch from the elevator button. I turned and followed after Scully.


	4. Hocus Pocus

When I returned to Mulder's office, he and Scully were already plotting our next move.

"We should go try to find these other people, see if any memories are coming back to them," Mulder suggested.

Scully gave a discouraged look and said, "We really know nothing about this case, do we, Mulder? These files are so inconclusive anyone could have written them on a whim and claimed it was real police work. We can't really do anything until we talk to these other kidnapping victims," Mulder sighed quietly at her insistent use of the word 'kidnapping', "But I'm afraid we'll go to talk to them and we won't get anywhere."

"Your concern is understandable, Miss Scully, however, I believe this is the only lead we have," I interjected.

"He's right, Scully," Mulder concurred.

Scully looked from Mulder to me, and then back to him, "I'm not doubting that it's all we have to go on. I agree with you, we should get going. I just don't want you to get your hopes up, Mulder." She reached for her satchel and her partner plucked one of the files from his desk. "Where to first?"

"A woman identified as Anne Baxtor. She disappeared out of her townhouse and is now staying with her sister who lives not far from here," Mulder read. He shut the file and grabbed the rest of them, "Let's go."

* * *

We arrived at Frida Baxtor's apartment twenty minutes later. The large and daunting red brick complex towered over us much as the J. Edgar Hoover building had seemed to when I'd first approached it. Not that it couldn't have been a friendly place to live. I'm sure it's positively lovely on the inside, perfectly comfortable furniture and beautiful wallpaper.

Mulder sauntered up to the large front door of the establishment and held to door open for his partner and I, flashing a genuinely lighthearted smile at Scully as she passed by him. Mulder followed behind me as I entered the building, the door slamming loudly behind him.

"Frida told me we're going to the fifth floor," Fox informed us.

"You've already talked to her?" Scully inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Of course, Scully," he replied, "I would never just show up uninvited at someone's home." He gave her that amused look and she returned it with a small smile playing on her lips.

We moved down the long, slender entrance hall way towards the lone and aging elevator. "OUT OF ORDER" read the chicken scratch script scrawled across a thin piece of paper that was plastered to the elevator door. To our right was a slightly open door displaying a steep set of stairs. Mulder nodded and then climbed the first few steps, pausing when he realized we weren't following in his wake.

"Are you guys coming?" he said, turning back to face us at the foot of the stairs.

Scully glance at me and then began cautiously making her way up the staircase. I followed after her, just as conscious of the crumbling wood at the edges of the steps and the frighteningly loud creaking noises they made under our weight.

"I swear, I don't remember a thing. If Frida hadn't recognized me, I never would have found out who I am," Anne told us uneasily, as if she felt she was still in the dark about her true identity.

"I know this is hard for you, I appreciate you trying to help us," Mulder said ernestly, giving Anne a look that reinforced his sincerity. "Have you ever undergone deep regression hypnosis therapy?"

"Heavens, no!" Anne appeared somewhat appalled. I observed Mulder's brow furrow at this reaction.

"Would any of you like some coffee?" Frida asked as she entered the room, her demeanor warm. She did not notice her sister's subsiding surprise from Mulder's question, or she at least did not show it, as she glanced at the faces in her sitting room.

"I would most definitely appreciate some coffee, Miss Baxtor." I told her. Scully concurred but Mulder declined her offer with his face looking far too pensive for him to be contemplating warm beverages.

"I would never subject myself to all that hocus pocus," Anne fired back fiercely at Mulder when Frida had left the room, reminding us of the subject at hand.

"I never asked you to, I just wanted to know if you had or if you even knew what deep regression hypnosis was. Obviously, you've heard of it," Mulder replied calmly.

"Have you seen a doctor since you've been... back, Miss Baxtor?" Asked Scully, who had been silent for the most part during this interview.

"Yes, I have. He found nothing wrong with me. I can give you his card if you like." Anne pawed through her purple handbag before retracting a large wallet and plucking a business card from inside. She held the card out to Scully as she said, "He's so nice. I'm sure he'd be open to meeting with you." She seemed more comfortable with the conventional medical realm; Scully seemed to feel the same.

"Thank you very much. We'll probably go by to see him soon," Scully said while examining the information given to her. Just then, Frida returned with four steaming mugs of coffee.

"We really do appreciate you being so welcoming," Mulder told the sisters as he stood up, "We'll be going now. Thank you." He brushed past Frida who stood slightly bewildered just inside the doorway.

* * *

"Well, so far we've gotten absolutely nowhere. You were right about these victims," Mulder complained after Scully and I had caught up to him beside his car.

"Mulder, why did we leave so suddenly like that? They were nice people-" Scully protested.

"I don't doubt that, but they didn't know anything. Like Frida said when we got there, this all has been completely random. Both the disappearance of her sister and finding her were flukes. We have no information, and I bet everyone in these files will be able to tell us only what we already know," he said as he gestured to the files stacked in the back seat.

Scully and I remained silent as Mulder contemplated our next move. Leaning against the hood of his car, the FBI agent looked like he was about to tell us something more when he cell phone began to ring. Mulder removed the device from his pocket and answered the call. He listened for over a minute before replying, "Okay, we're on our way."

Mulder got into his car and Scully followed suit without question. I hesitated, but when Mulder turned the engine I knew I'd better get in before they left me behind.

* * *

Note: I'm really sorry about the wait for this slightly shorter, more boring chapter. A combination of real life catching up to me and writer's block kept this one from coming quickly. Thanks for your patience.


	5. Consequences

During the car ride, the only thing Scully said was to ask where we were going, to which Mulder replied "Frohike has something". That seemed to be enough for her.

The land passing by was at first industrial; tall office buildings, malls, bus stops. Then it was residential; little houses lining the block, bike-riding kids, corner stores. Now we'd stopped at a random motorhome in the middle of a barren field. It seemed innocent enough, a pale blue color with a satellite dish. Wait, no, there were definitely multiple dishes. Some were blooming above the trailer's roof, others tiny and dwarfed beside them. What could those possibly before? It came to my attention how little I really knew about this Frohike character.

When I met him, I had been ambling down the streets of D.C. after awakening in that disgusting alley. I bumped right into Frohike. I had apologized as I bent down to help collect the many papers he had dropped when I hit him before they were blown away in the wind. I looked up and tried to hand my papers to him, but my outstretched hand had gone unnoticed.

"Do I know you?" he had said. I replied that I certainly did not know him. But he refused to believe this and went on to say he knew my face, he had to have seen it before. He insisted that he had seen me with Fox Mulder. When no memory of either of these men returned to me, I began to realize something was very, very wrong. And at that moment I tried to recall any measly detail from my past and found I could not do it. Frohike agreed to take me to where her knew Mulder would probably be, telling me to find Scully first and ask her for help. I thanked him when we had reached the FBI building, and he left with having only given me his last name.

Now Mulder stood at the door the motor home and softly knocked three times, paused, and then knocked twice more. The door swung open to reveal a lanky, blond man. "Mulder, come in quickly," he said.

The two agents clambered into the van. I started to ascend the two metal steps outside its front door but was stopped by the tall man. With clear suspicion he asked me, "Who are you?" to which I replied, "I don't know," and brushed past him.

Inside the motorhome was trinkets galore. Computers and radios, machines of all kinds; many of which I did I had never seen in my life. Of course, I probably wouldn't know if I had seen any of them or not.

My eyes grew as I eyed the gadgets. Absently shifting through the narrow pathway inside the van, I nearly toppled device after device to the floor. Buttons and blinking lights surrounded me, overwhelmed me, fascinated me. I couldn't focus on any one thing no matter how hard I tried. It took all my mental strength to concentrate on the conversation between Frohike, Mulder, and Scully.

"I think I know a bit about what's happening to these people. Emphasis on think," Frohike explained to Mulder.

"What've you got, Melvin_?_," he asked.

_Melvin_? That's worse than my name! Or, at least, the name that's supposed to be mine. I don't think I truly am a Rodney or a Simon.

Another man came to join the conversation. He looked a bit like Mulder, but shorter and more timid. He stood just outside the condensed circle Frohike, Mulder, and Scully were forming; looking as if he was not quite ready to give his input.

The blond man stood in a small kitchenette, tending to a steaming pot of... something. The miniscule oven with its tiny burners seemed to mock the man's height. He towered over the little thing. On his face was a determined scowl, his eyes fixed on the pot intently. I shuffled over to stand next to him, knowing it was most likely quite a stupid idea. He did not make eye contact with me, though he obviously knew I was making my way across the small motorhome; I was making an extraordinary amount of noise due to my incessant clumsiness.

"Hello," I greeted him nervously.

"Hey," he responded absently, not meeting my eyes.

I stared at the pot. Tomato soup. The steam wafted up to meet the blond man's thick, black glasses. Their lenses fogged. He tried a spoonful of the soup, nodded his head in agreement with its taste, and poured some into a bowl.

"So, you're the man who doesn't know his own name, huh?" he asked me.

"Yes."

He finally turned to look down at me and said, in quite a stern manner, "Listen, if you think you can win Scully over with this 'I'm so helpless' act and your puppy dog eyes, you're dead wrong, man."

"Wh- what?" I stuttered.

"I let Frohike have his fun and whatever with her, but he doesn't really mean it. And he knows not to take it too far. You have. I don't like that."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to," I answered honestly.

"Dude. Get it in your head," he lowered his voice, "I _like_ Scully. I have for a long time. You might like her too but that doesn't mean you can just step in on what I've been working on here. I've been on a roll. Last time she and Mulder came over, she even smiled at me. I'm sounding real pathetic but if you haven't noticed, she doesn't smile all that often. Not big, real smiles."

"So... You think I like-" I stopped myself before I said her name too loud. "You think that I like Scully?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Well, I'm sorry to say you've misjudged me. I hardly know Scully, and she most certainly does not like me."

"Oh. Well. Just... Whatever. I'm Langly," I held out my hand to me, his features softening.

"I'm... Um. Well, I'm Rodney," I replied shyly.

"Right, you don't know who you are. Where'd you get that name from?"

"Mulder has files-"

"Uh, _yeah_ he does," Langly interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"People have been disappearing and then reappearing with no recollection of their life whatsoever. We found a casefile of someone who just might be me. His name is Rodney Simon, he hasn't been located yet. We're trying to figure out what's happening to these people, but we've gotten absolutely nowhere. We visited a woman who had disappeared earlier but none of her memory had come back to her. Frohike called Mulder soon after we left and told him that we needed to come here... Is this where you live?" My mind wandered to the devices again, my eyes scouring my surroundings and was once again perplexed by the sheer amount of things in the room, how they could all fit inside.

"Sort of. I mean, the three of us stay here a lot. Kind of get's you crawling the walls after a week or two, though," he warily surveyed the scene, as if it had already been a while since he'd left. "We should probably join them," he gestured to the group of Scully, Mulder, Frohike, and the man who must be John.

Langly abandoned his soup and headed over to them. I followed slightly after, my pace slowing as my eyes roamed the room. again.

"So you're saying you know where these people are disappearing from? How did you come across this?" Scully asked Frohike.

"Someone emailed it to me and I couldn't trace it for the life of me," they were talking about a piece of paper Scully held in her hand. Mulder was gazing at it over her shoulder, "All I know is what is says. I couldn't find anything else."

Mulder stepped back and I went to fill his place.

"WE KNOW YOU HAVE KNOWLEDGE  
OF THE DISAPPEARANCES.  
WE KNOW WHERE THEY ARE TAKEN.  
ON THE TOP OF FITZGERALD'S BAKERY  
YOU WILL SEE THEM GO.  
DO NOT TRY TO STOP IT.  
DO NOT GET IN THE WAY  
OR YOU WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES."

I tried to contain a shutter as I stepped away from Scully. What 'consequences'? How did they find these three? How in the world did they get Frohike's email? They seem so secluded, so safe out here in the middle of nowhere. How did they even know Frohike knew about the disappearances? Were they watching him when he helped me find Mulder and Scully?

Are they watching us now?

* * *

Okay, I kind of make Langly sound annoying in this chapter. Don't think I don't like him, he's actually one of my favorites. I felt like I was doing the same thing with Scully earlier and I don't really mean to. Also, I don't exactly ship Langly and Scully, I just sort of thought it'd be funny for him to have the real crush instead of Frohike. That part isn't going anywhere... At least I don't think so.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you for reading!


	6. Attention

Mulder stood with his neck craned in order to view the entire Fitzgerald's Bakery building. How could this insignificant little blip along the cramped D.C. sidewalk be so important? How could it ever be possible that people are vanishing from off the top of this business?

Apparently Skully shared in my thoughts. "You don't really think people are getting abducted by aliens from up there, do you Mulder?" she said, hands on hips.

"Aliens don't send emails, Skully," he replied nonchalantly.

"You don't think it's E.T. this time?

"I don't see how it could be. I've heard about a sector of the government-"

"Oh boy," Skully interrupted while giving me a knowing look.

Mulder ignored her, "That is possibly doing tests out of D.C. I've been meaning to look into it, I only just heard about it a few days ago."

"From whom?" she asked.

"Someone we can trust," he answered mysteriously, as usual.

Skully sighed, "How could they be taking people off the roofs of buildings? And why would the government be kidnapping people involuntarily in the first place?"

"Well, maybe they weren't involuntary," Mulder turned to look at me, his expression intelligible.

"You can't possibly believe that I would ever sacrifice my memory for some backwards government scheme?" I said somewhat defensively.

"I'm not saying anything. But we've seen our fair share of the secrets behind the curtain and that is one thing we've never thought of, people agreeing to these tests. None of us have any idea who you really are, maybe you had good intentions. Maybe I'm wrong and you were taken against your will. But right now we have to look at things from every angle."

I nodded at Mulder, feeling foolish for thinking that he'd ever try to pin me as an imbecile who would so easily give up their memories without proper amends. How could I think like that? Mulder is one who entertains ever possibility, no matter how ludicrous.

"Hey," I was snapped back to reality as Scully gently tapped my shoulder, "We're leaving." She left my side and began he way back to the car behind Mulder.

I took one last look up at the small building that was in no way familiar to me. It seemed to hide so many secrets and mysteries within its red bricks and I longed to stay so that I could learn them. I turned to follow after Scully yet again.

* * *

Back inside the FBI building, Scully and I were obviously more enervated than her partner. My droopy eyes found the clock on the wall of Mulder's office and, dispite my exhaustion, I jerked with shock that it was already 11 in the evening. However, Mulder was still wide awake, ready to go on another hunt for my captors.

"Why don't we go back to the bakery later tonight, see what's going on down there?" he proposed, trying to hide the blatant excitement in his voice.

"Mulder, I don't think I'm safe to drive, let alone go running after flying saucers," Scully complained sleepily. "I'm going to head home, we'll pick this up in the morning." She picked up her hand bag, draped her coat over her forarm, and exited Mulder's office leaving him a bit crestfallen.

It then came to my attention that I didn't exactly have anywhere to stay the night. Even if we knew for sure that I was indeed Rodney Simon, I had woken up without any sort of way to renter my life. No money, no house or car keys, and, of course, no identification. I couldn't just break into a home, even if it was mine. It was far too risky.

I was about to consult Mulder on this dilemma, a question on the tip of my tongue, when he raised his eyes to meet my own and said, "I guess you'll have to stay with me tonight." My mouth clamped shut.

I nodded my head, "It would seem to be that way."

Mulder grabbed his effects and gestured for me to follow him out the door. I tried to keep up with his rapid gait as we caught the elevator and slowly ascended from the basement.

* * *

42 read the door we stood facing while Mulder turned the key. He pushed and held it open for me to enter first and then followed, locking the deadbolt behind him.

I layed my few things next the the scruffy couch and sat down. It was obviously aging, yet very comfortable, the way only an old but loved couch could feel. Evidently, this is where I would spend the night and I relaxed into the cushions, content.

"The bathroom is down the hall if you need it. Most everything in the fridge is edible... I think," Mulder cautioned. "I don't spend much time here, to be honest," he explained, flicking some fish food into a tank in one corner of the living room. "I'll wake you up when we need to get back to my office tomorrow. Goodnight." He strode to his bedroom and shut himself in.

I layed back on the couch, grabbing a throw blanket and stretching it over me. I switched off the lamp that had been casting dim breaks in the shadows and was suddenly submerged in darkness.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of splintering wood and someone's hand clamped tight over my mouth. I started to struggle but Mulder's hushed voice in my ear assured me it was only him, and that someone was breaking inside. He removed his hand and placed it with his other which was holding a gun. He waved his hand for he to follow him to a position with an effective view of the door, which was caving in at the middle. Another blow caused it to rock on it's hinges, just about to yeild to the pressure. One last hit sent the door off its frame and tumbling to the floor.

Mulder raised his weapon and I tensed at his side, watching the events play out over his shoulder. A shadowy figure stepped over the threshold and paused on top of the fallen door for a moment. Mulder took advantage of this.

BANG. The intruder cried out, clutching his foot. Mulder moved from his vantage point and edged closer to the man who had now fallen to the floor.

"Who are you?!" he yelled.

"Oh, you know me _very_ well, Mulder."

Recognition splashed across his face, but his shulders tensed up and he refocused his aim for the man's head. "What are you doing here, Krycek? How _dare_ you show your face to me after what you've done to my family!"

"I was going to be in and out, you wouldn't have even know it was me-"

"That's bull. If you wanted to break in without me knowing you could havr done it in a thousand quieter ways. You wanted my attention, you've got it. Now talk."

"I have nothing to tell you-"

"Alright then." Mulder crossed the room to his phone and dialed 911 without taking his eyes or gun off the man whose gaze had now shifted to me. He stared at me for a few brief seconds before a clatter on the other side of the room and few sputtered profanities from Mulder caught his attention as well as mine.

Before I could even react, he bolted up from the floor and out of the apartment. Mulder scrambled after him and down the hallway but I did not follow. Instead I moved to the window where I saw a black car parked outside Mulder's building. The intruder was somehow already nearing it, obviously paying no mind to the pain in his foot as he sprinted and jumped into the open door waiting for him.

Just as the car pulled away, Mulder reached the curb and screamed after it as it drove away. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and combed his fingers through his disheveled hair, defeated.

From the floor, I could hear a woman urgently asking me what my emergency was. I returned the phone to its hook.

* * *

Note: In this chapter I finally got to live my X Files fantasy of Mulder shooting someone, anyone, in the foot! But alas, his tactics never work on Krycek no matter how sure fire.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks again for reading!


	7. People Like Me

I had returned to the couch and Mulder to his room after an unsuccessful attempt at placing the door back on its hinges. It now stood at angle leaning against the wall next to the doorway it partially blocked.

I never went back to sleep, but I could hear soft snores coming from Mulder's room. The events on this night seemed oddly familiar to him and I began to ponder all that had happened. Who was this Krycek character? Why did he choose this night, the first night I was to stay with Mulder, to break in? Why indeed had he done it so loudly?

My eyes flicked over to the sledgehammer laying discarded near the door. It made no sense whatsoever.

I returned to my previous activity of trying to fall back asleep, but to no avail. Soon Mulder was shaking me awake saying we needed to get back to his office in about half an hour. Dragging myself from the couch, I remembered that I had gone to bed fully dressed including my shoes.

As Mulder and I exited the apartment, he paused to look at the lopsided door. "There's nothing in here of value, anyway. Well, nothing of value except for people like me," he said lightheartedly.

We approached the FBI building and I heard the fast clicking of heels behind us. I turned to see Scully trying to catch up to Mulder and I. I tapped Mulder's shoulder so that he would also notice her, stopping when he did.

"Someone was lurking outside my apartment last night. I couldn't quite tell who he was, but he was long gone by the time the cops showed up. Did anything strange happen to you?" Scully said, obviously very worried about Mulder.

"No, everything was normal for us. Did you recognize the prowler at all?" Why was Mulder hiding the fact that someone broke in and not just that, but someone he _knew_?

"I had no idea who he was. I didn't get a good look at him, though. It could have been anyone, a random person looking for something quick to steal," Scully explained.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Mulder said as he strode towards the building and held the door open for Scully and I.

It was all very strange. Dous Mulder not want Scully to know about Krycek? Does Krycek already know about her? It seemed to me very odd that Mulder wouldn't advise Scully to be wary of this man rather than keep her in the dark about something that could harm the both of them. Also making me feel uncomfortable was the fact that I now knew something about Mulder's life that he had no intention of letting his partner in on. I once again felt as if I was intruding on their intimate yet platonic relationship, something I knew not to meddle with.

In any case, Scully and Mulder were speaking in hushed tones so that I could not hear. Obviously there were still some things that would only be shared among the two of them. I would always be an outsider in this dysfunctional trio, there was no way around that.

I caught hints of "Frohike," "bakery," and "Baxtor," but not much else. Their discussion was heated yet somehow hushed below the clacking of Scully's heels reverberating through the hallways. When the three of us entered the elevator alone, all chatter ceased. The ride was silent, Mulder staring straight ahead at the cold, silver doors while Scully's eyes darted around trying to find something suitable to focus on. Something that had nothing to do with me, whom she kept glancing at anyway.

Today felt different. The tensions between Scully and I as well as her and Mulder for bringing me along everywhere seemed to have eased a bit, but now she seemed to feel guilty instead. Mulder was stoic, which was not unusual, but it seemed out of place nonetheless. I thought we had gotten past most of the mysteries but there seemed to plenty more around every corner.

The elevator doors finally opened and the snug hallway greeted us. Scully and Mulder did not continue their conversation, much to my surprise. We reached the door to Mulder's office, but when he brought his key up to the deadbolt, he found that the door was unlocked already.

Mulder cautiously pushed into the room and we were shocked by a ransacked room. The desk was overturned with the drawers littering the floor, papers were strewn about every inch, a few posters and photographs had been torn down to reveal the bland walls behind them. His office had been destroyed and yet Mulder did not seem concerned. In fact, he seemed used to this sort of event, as if it happened on a regular basis.

Scully edged into the room and in her face I saw her heart break for Mulder. "I'm sorry. We'll figure out who did this-"

"No, we won't. They'll make sure we won't," Mulder replied coolly, "I don't know if they got what they were looking for but they definitely won't be coming back to hand themselves in or giving any clues to help us find them."

"You don't know that, Mulder. We might find something. A fingerprint, anything," Scully protested desperately.

"Well they never have before." Mulder walked over to the desk lying on its side and started rummaging through the mostly empty drawers, possibly looking for anything that was missing.

"Wait... You've had this happen before?" Scully questioned. Mulder responded with a somber hum of affirmation. "Do you have any idea who would do this? How many times had this happened?" She forced herself to stop there. It seemed as if Scully had as many questions as I did.

"If I knew who did this I would have told you." Mulder held up a piece of paper quizzically, "Why would they leave this..."

Carefully making my way over as to not step on anything, I caught a glance of the sheet over Mulder's shoulder. He quickly folded it up a stuck it in his pocket, turning his gaze on me. "I need to call Frohike."

* * *

"Do you think something's happened to them?" Scully asked.

"I have no idea, but I think Frohike not picking up isn't a good sign. He got that email and that means someone knows where they are. Not only that, but they have access to his personal information. Maybe that's what they were looking for in my office, something to hold over me so that I won't continue to get involved."

We were back in Mulder's car, headed for the middle of nowhere that we had come from the day before, the industrial setting turning to residential and then to rural once again. I was not completely aware of time passing and soon we were approaching the vicinity of the mobile home.

Suddenly, smoke was rising from the distance and we drove closer we could see the trailer engulfed in flames.

* * *

Note: I am so so so _SO _incredibly sorry that I've been gone for this crazy amount of time. I had some very busy weekends and then I went out of town and real life just decided to smack me in the face a few times. But I'm on break this week so I think I'll be able to post 2 or maybe 3 more times before next Monday. Exciting, right? Yeah?! Okay then. Don't everybody scream with joy at once.

Anyway, I'm thinking about starting a new project (also x-files) where each chapter is a disconnected short story. The chapters would definitely be longer and they wouldn't come as fast but I think they'd be fun to right and ideas would come much more easily. Don't worry, I'm definitely _not_ abandoning this story, but my schedule isn't looking any clearer than before once I get back to school so it will take some time for me to get chapters up, sorry.

In any case, thank you for reading this far. It means a lot.

-ChopR


	8. Pretend

The fire raged white hot as we pulled up to the now unrecognizable motor home at a safe distance. The charred paneling was flaking off and many pieces were floating in the smoky breeze, continuing to burn until they were only dust. Mulder's brow furrowed, Scully refused to let her eyes linger on the flaming structure for too long, and I didn't quite know what to believe. I hadn't known the FBI agents for more than 36 hours and already the home of three of their most trusted comrades was burnt to a crisp. There was no question, no doubt in my mind that this was because of me. This was because of the trip to Frida and Anne Baxtor, this was because of the hours spent staring at Fitzgerald's Bakery, this was because my night spent at Mulder's apartment, and it was definitely because of the smoldering cigarette butts in A. D. Skinner's office.

These events were all connected, not because I was present for them all, though I obviously had been. They shared another witness that slithers among the shadows and has eyes so many it's hard for things to go unseen. An entity so large and powerful it controls every life it's long arms could possibly touch, and ruins many of them. Yet it is invisible to the eye of the law and it intends to stay that way; hidden in the darkness we pretend isn't there. He is a figment of your imagination. He is the robber and the cop, the mystery and the answer. He is the refutation of all you have discovered, but he is also the smoking gun.

"JOHN? LANGLY? FROHIKE?" Mulder called after the fire had died down. The small home was now just a burnt shell of what it had been, it's basic structure the only thing remaining. Mulder's search was futile, Scully and I knew it but I'm not sure that he did. There was nowhere for the three men to hide. Their only chance of survival would have been for them to not be here when the fire started, to be very far away indeed.

Mulder spent fifteen minutes screaming for the men, and thirty more once Scully and I began to help. I'm not sure why she went to join him. I don't know how it helped anything, other than fuel any fantasy that Mulder had left.

Soon, reality began to fully dawn on Mulder. He'd known from the beginning that something like this could happen to him or even to Scully, but he knew that she'd accepted that risk by now. I know that things like the events that transpired today had mirrored those of Mulder's past, but I suspected that this was one of the first times he had lost someone who'd truly understood his mission. These men had been on his fight alongside him. They had asked the same questions, discovered the same facts, and known the same truth.

It was not even set in stone that the - as Mulder sometimes called them - Lone Gunmen were truly lost forever, it was actually quite likely they'd known someone was coming for them. But the brute maliciousness of those who ran the world behind closed doors was now in full view of Mulder. I am not sure if this was a new experience, or a reawakening. In any case, this was not the time for Mulder to be defeated and he knew it. This was the time to keep looking and to fight harder.

* * *

The three of us had not enjoyed the thick, heavy silence that shrouded us during the entire car ride back to downtown D.C. The silence was not unfamiliar on these trips, but this was different. There were things that needed to be said and we were letting them go unheard.

"What are we going to do next, Mulder?" Scully asked tentatively.

"I have no idea," he replied in a clipped voice.

"Well... Attempting to contact them wouldn't be a good idea. They need to stay hidden. We could go talk to another victim, maybe," Scully suggested. When Mulder didn't say a word, she continued, "Or we could just take a day off."

"We can't take a day off, Scully. People will keep disappearing. We can't take a break because the ones working against us never will," He replied.

"We never conducted a stake out of the bakery," I observed.

Mulder made a sharp turn and we headed in that direction.

* * *

"It's nearly five in the morning, Mulder, and we haven't gotten anything. Maybe we should head home and regroup a little later at your office," Scully suggested.

After having spent nearly twelve disappointing hours waiting outside Fitzgerald's Bakery, I was far more than prepared to take her up on that offer. Twelve long hours spent with my weary head resting temple to foggy backseat window, my eyes gazing up at the bakery drifting in and out of focus periodically. I realized I hadn't truly been part of a conversation with Mulder and Scully in quite some time, and went on to observe that neither of them seemed to notice.

A glistening raindrop drifted down the window in front of me, like a perfect tear on a face as emotional as this glass. Where was this rain before here? A lake somewhere nearby? The ocean? How does one discover these things? Is it even possible to retrace the steps of something deceitful as water?

I looked up to the sky, already lighting up with the morning sun though it was shrouded in an overcast cloak. With the beginnings of the light's rays shining through the cracks in the gray, it seemed as though the world was very small.

I hadn't heard Mulder agree with Scully, but now the bakery was behind us and as I watched its image recede into the distance, I saw the sun rise for the first time.

* * *

After dropping Scully off at her apartment building, Mulder and I arrived at his. I told him I could wait in the car while he change clothes and got ready for another long day of work. He and Scully had taken shifts during the stake out, but while she had been sound asleep during his, he never got a wink. Not that Scully knew this. He pretended for her.

When Mulder hadn't returned in almost two hours, I began to worry. He wasn't one to take much time preparing his appearance. I decided to go up and check on him and exited the car. I strode over to the parking garage's elevators and pressed the call button. Instantly, a loud 'ding' pierced the air signaling the elevator to my right was about to open. When it did, I found a man in a very well tailored suit. He was an older gentleman, but I could tell his wrinkled face deceived his true age. As he stepped into the parking garage, he pulled a pack of Morley cigarettes from his pocket.

"Have a nice day," he told me in a slightly raspy voice with a curteous smile.

I nodded at the man and stepped into the elevator he had just vacated, pressing the button for level four as I did. The doors closed and I slowly rose to Mulder's floor. When they opened I began to walk to his apartment at a leisurely pace. As I got nearer I began to smell the telltale odor of smoke as I had the day before. I quickened my pace and found that the aroma was coming from the apartment directly adjacent to Mulder's and I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. Mulder was pacing outside the door on the phone with what I assumed to be 911.

"Yes. Just like I said, yes. I heard him walk in and shoot the woman and then he dropped his cigarette in the trash can and it caught on fire." As Mulder continued to recount his story, more and more people were leaving the apartments to observe the chaos. "Of course I put it out! Just get someone down here. I didn't want to leave the woman to go after her attacker but I tried recessitating her and nothing worked." It was then that I realized Mulder's hands were covered in blood. His forearms and knees as well. "Thank you," he said hanging up the phone.

Mulder marched back inside the foul smelling apartment and went to kneel over the deceased woman, "Everything happened too fast. I came running in when I heard the shot and then saw him start the fire. I didn't have my gun on me. I tried to stop him but told me someone would just replace him if I did. 'Possibly someone less merciful' he said. He handed me this." Mulder gave me a small slip of paper. 'Perhaps we didn't aim close enough to home' it read.

"I'm going to call Skinner. I'll be back," Mulder explained and then left the apartment.

I sat with the woman until I head an ambulance pull up front. I stepped away from the body as EMTs came in and loaded her onto a stretcher. I watched them as they exited the building, rolling the woman over to the emergency vehicle. I felt Mulder come stand by my side at the window. One of the technicians turned to look up at us. He winked and Mulder sprinted for the door. Krycek loaded into the back of the ambulance as it peeled away from the corner.

* * *

Note: I know these recent chapters have been sort of filler chapters, sorry about that. But I do think the internal dialog is important. There will be more action soon, though. I promise! This chapter is also pretty short, sorry again. I wanted to post it though. I wanted to leave it here and start again fresh tomorrow when I start the next one.

Thanks for reading!

-ChopR


	9. Drowning

"Can you tell us exactly what he looked like, Mulder?"

"He was just some random guy. I'd never seen him before. He was about as tall as me, blond hair, I think dark green eyes - maybe brown, I don't know." Mulder replied solemnly.

"And why didn't you try to stop him?"

"I did. I tried to push him back from the door. He wasn't threatening me with it, but he had the gun and I didn't. Even if I had been armed, I wouldn't have hurt him."

"Why not?"

"He was young. So goddamn young. He couldn't have been older than seventeen... And what is it with these people and cigarettes anyway?"

"Who at these people, Mulder?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

"How was your interview, Mulder?" Scully asked, somewhat lightheartedly.

"You mean interrogation?" Mulder sighed, "It was okay, but I don't know anything. I couldn't tell them what they wanted. And you know no one is going to go after this guy or Krycek. The file folders will get buried beneath new ones or fall behind the bookcase all together. That woman's family is going to get some half-assed explanation for the death of their loved one and all the people who could do something about it don't care enough to make the effort. I'm so damn tired of everything being unfair for those who deserve the truth the most. I want people to get the justice they deserve for once."

Mulder had been pacing back and forth in the police station lobby while he poured his thoughts out to Scully, but now she stood in his path and squared her shoulders. "_We_ can do something about it, Mulder."

"Like what?" he replied harshly, "Give up? Stop looking for answers so they won't kill anyone else?"

"That's not what I mean. Why kill this specific woman?"

"Because she was my neighbor. She was literally 'close to home' as they put it."

"No, because your neighbor, Penelope Woods, is part of this whole mystery. She's been missing for four days - until now. No one saw her enter the building. No one has noticed anyone living in her apartment since her disappearance."

"And we're sure this is actually her? Not some rpop left to cover up the missing woman?"

"Her son made a positive ID, the same man who reported her missing. The police officer I talked to about all of this made it sound as if this man was very, very sure it was his mother that had been killed and that he could be trusted."

As this conversation had been unfolding, I had been pacing just behind the pair of FBI agents taking in the entire police precinct.

The former chiefs' portraits hung on the walls, and one was slightly tilted as though someone had missed the man so much they had tried to touch his face. The one directly adjacent - the last in the line - was of a distinguished looking younger man with broad shoulders and wrinkles in his forehead, giving him the appearance that he rested on each important issue of his life and pondered it until duly solved.

"That's him," Scully stopped before the picture that held my gaze,"The current police chief, Michael Woods, son of Penelope Woods."

"They had a _boy_ kill the police chief's mother?" Mulder asked incredulously.

"I guess so," she answered.

"Perhaps we should have a chat with this man?" I interjected.

"Definitely," Mulder said immediately as he strode towards the chief's office.

* * *

I was not welcomed into the man's office. Mulder and Scully had thought it best I wait outside. And what could my mind do but wander?

The officers and secretaries bustled about. I couldn't tell if this particular day was a busy one for crime, or if things were proceeding as usual. The phones were ringing and the keyboards were clacking, much like the FBI building. Together these sounds were incessant, but those at the station seemed to have all that was thrown at them under control.

The browning walls rippled with bumps I'd grown to hate in architecture. Like a pool.

… I have never been swimming. I'm almost certain I haven't a clue how to even swim. How in God's name do I know what a pool is like?

At this very moment Scully emerged from the room with her partner close behind. Though they were both trying to hide it from each other, I could see in their features that this interview had been disappointing.

"He hadn't even talked to her in years. He'd come by four days ago to apologize - it was his mother's birthday. He said he talked to the neighbors and they hadn't heard from in a while beforehand. But that apparently was not out of the ordinary; she wasn't home much," Mulder summarized for me, "Hmm... Remind you of anyone?" he grinned at Scully.

She mustered a small smile in return,"That was very hard to watch, honestly," she told him. When his face turned to a confused expression she elaborated. "He had been on bad terms with his mother since she had disagreed with him about marrying his wife - who already had two children. She did not attend his wedding. After that she hadn't been invited to any other family gatherings. She never met her grandchildren - by marriage or blood. She never received a Mother's Day card and she never sent any birthday gifts. He hadn't heard a word from her in almost five years when he decided it was time to make amends. Now it's too late."

When she was done I voiced the thoughts that had been knocking at my brain the last few minutes.

"I remember," I abbreviated.

"You _what_?" Mulder asked me flabbergasted.

"I remember bits and pieces. Unimportant facts. I know how the walls of a pool feel. I know my father once had an affair. I know my favorite color is green. Pointless things, but they are coming back to me."

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?"

"No. Nothing you would be interested in, anyhow," though I wasn't quite sure about that, but if there was one thing I feared more than forgetting my entire existence it was remembering things I desperately wished would stay unknown to me.

* * *

Note: I'm sorry this has taken me so long. If you read my other X Files fic (Amor Fati) you may have seen my note there, but I had serious writer's block. I thought summer would be easier but I've been busier than I expected. I feel a lot better about my writing after that break, though. I'm hoping to continuously update all my stories finishing with this one after every cycle. I don't think that will take me too long because all the others are poetry.

As always, thank you for reading!


	10. Miscommunications

Mulder sat behind his desk in a repaired office, a paper in his lap. I observed from the sparsely-padded seat in the far corner of the room as he turned the pages. He reached for the bag of sunflower seeds placed by him on the desk - slowly, so as not to knock anything over - never taking his off the current article.

On the back of the page he was avidly reading, the one that was facing me, a large portion was taken up by a photograph of a man - apparently missing.

"Have you read that one yet?" I asked cautiously, unsure if it was wise to disturb the engrossed man.

He looked up at me and turned the paper over to see what I had been pointing at.

"Wow. You're famous!" he exclaimed and then flipped the paper back to show men an article about Rodney Simon, greatly missed by his wife and grown children. "And you've got kids! I guess I should have known that one, really. But I haven't had a ton of time to read your casefile."

"Does it aid us at all with the situation at hand?" I questioned, I wasn't happy in the slightest about this news. I had a wife. I had children. I was part of a family I didn't know. They had gone through so much suffering so far and they were going to be put through more no matter what.

"No... No it doesn't. But we know for sure that you are Rodney Simon at least. I'll read your file cover to cover right now and see what I can dig up," he began rifling through the stacks of papers on his desk.

I started to put things together a bit more. Frohike had been following the disappearances, and he knew Mulder had been as well. I was able to conclude that he recognized me from the papers as I now noticed Mulder's was dated a few days ago. He brought me to wait for Scully because he knew Mulder would either have stayed up all night at his office or would be sleeping later at home. He told me to talk to Skinner about my problem as well, knowing he could do more about stopping the abduction of these people than any of his agents could.

I have to ask myself, however, if that is really the truth. The embers in his waste basket. The man in the elevator. The boy sent to kill an old woman for a reason he most likely did not know. The break in at Mulder's apartment and the simultaneous one at his office. The message to Frohike and then the burning of his home. These events and these people all fit together in some way.

Suddenly Mulder was out of his seat and violently sifting through the inner pockets of his overcoat. He pulled out a business card and I could not have begun to understand why it was so important to him until he said his next words.

"I can't believe I missed this before. Anne Baxtor told us she'd seen a doctor since she came back. She went to a psychiatrist she'd seen many times before her disappearance, obviously this time she was going for a psych evaluation," he examined the small white care for a minute, as if looking for evidence to prove himself wrong. "Martin Bradley Collins. He's _your_ psychiatrist, and I'll bet you anything he's Penelope Woods's too."

* * *

Mulder's small car pulled up to quite a large building. It seemed daunting brick superstructures were common in the work of these two FBI agents.

Approaching the building just ahead of us was a middle-aged, mousy woman. She was nervous, everything about her seemed to radiate anxiety. Her eyes darted about, her fingers twitched, her clothes seemed to have been changed many times before she even left the house, as if it were imperative she find the perfect outfit for this particular outing. Even so, her apparel was unremarkable much like the rest of her appearance.

The woman, stepping lightly on her toes, briskly advanced the main doors of the building. When she pulled one open she glanced back and finally noticed the three of us heading towards her. For a moment horror flashed across her eyes, and then slowly faded. The woman waited for us, holding the entrance open courteously.

"Thank you," Mulder greeted her with a smile as took hold of the door. She gave the slightest smile in return, turned on her heel, and walked quietly down the entrance hallway.

Scully, Mulder, and I followed her path at our own pace. Eventually we reached a reception desk. The entire interior so far had been bland over all, the grand desk in the center of the room was by far the most impressive item. Behind the large piece of mahogany sat a young man with dark cropped hair and eyes that let you know nothing you could say would convince him you were of any importance.

Scully waited for the man to hang up the phone before informing him that her and Mulder were from the Bureau and that we were here to see Dr. Collins.

With a crisp voice, the man informed her, "I'm sorry, agent... Scully, was it? Dr. Collins has just gone into a meeting with a patient and won't be done for another forty minutes at least. It would have been helpful had you called ahead-"

"We did call ahead," Mulder cut him off, "And you're right. We're early. We'll just have a seat." He glanced at his partner before taking a chair in the waiting area.

* * *

After an hour and a half of waiting, I saw the skittish woman who had entered the building before us walk through the reception room and leave through the same door. At least I_ think_ it was the same woman. Her exit was very much different from her entrance. This woman certainly looked the same, but now her gait was sure, precise, and nowhere near as rapid. She came into the building cowardly and anxious, she left completely confident.

I turned my gaze to meet Mulder's and I could see in his expression that he had noticed the same change in the patient. Scully, however, had not. Her attention was focussed on an elderly man across the room who was sobbing louder and louder each moment, and the younger man trying to console him. When he raised his eyes they were dry, but it was evident sorrow lived in him as well.

A couple sat near them whose faces were emotionless, but they held each other's hands in a vice-like grip.

The people who came to see this doctor had deep secrets, memories they wanted so badly to forget; and somehow he made everything better for them. Dr. Collins restored the happiness in people, he gave them their life back.

I was in no way convinced that he was doing this out of the kindness of his heart or for the benefit of his patients. Something was very wrong with his practice, and I couldn't wait to figure it out.

* * *

Mulder knocked twice on the door of Dr. Martin Collins's office and to our surprise a short and squat man opened the door.

He glanced up and grinned at the three of us, "You must be the FBI agents come to haul me away!" he joked lightheartedly, "Come in, come in," he continued while backing away from the door.

"Hopefully we won't have to do that," Scully tried to act serious, but she couldn't cracking a small smile at the man's happy-go-lucky demeanor.

"Well, this is my own little foyer, but if you follow me I'll show you where you get to answer questions like 'How does that make you feel?'," he winked and ushered us out of the quint entrance room and into a smaller office down the hall.

I took a seat in one of the plush chairs placing my coat around the back as I did, and at that moment I became unsure of whether I was invited to join in on this conversation. Usually these moments were Mulder or Scully's cues to tell me to wait just outside the door for them. This time, however, I was permitted to accompany the agents.

"Dr. Collins," Scully began, "We believe this is one of your patients. Rodney-"

"-Simon," he finished for her, "Yes, he's one of mine," and then to me, "It's good to see you again. I'm glad you're doing alright." I nodded in response.

"We've alerted his family that he's been found, but that he is involved in an intense FBI investigation on his disappearance," Mulder added, "That's what we've come to talk to you about."

"I figured," the doctor sighed, "There have been some miscommunications between my patients, my superiors, and I."

"What kind of miscommunications?" Scully asked immediately.

"About my treatment, about the prescription medications my patients should and shouldn't be taking, about how often they should be coming in. I'm afraid some of this has scared off a few of the people who come to see me."

"Dr. Collins, are you aware that one of your former patients, Penelope Woods, was killed recently?" Mulder questioned.

"She's dead? Heavens no, I had no idea!" Collins seemed genuinely shocked. "I hadn't heard from Penelope in weeks. I'd tried calling and I even went down to her apartment once but she wasn't there. It was right about around the anniversary of her son's wedding that I stopped getting any contact from her. Wasn't her birthday just a few days ago as well?"

"Yes, she was reported missing four days ago on her birthday," Scully affirmed.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you much about the disappearances and I certainly can't tell you anything about this unfortunate death. Sometimes the treatment gets a little too intense for the patients and retreats are recommended for them. I know that is exactly what happened with Rodney, here. But the treatment is really pretty textbook, it's just hard for these people to go through it. It's sort of hard to explain unless you know psychological medicine."

"Well I know psychology," Mulder offered, "And Scully is a medical doctor."

"Oh. I had no idea. Well in that case I _could_ explain it to you. But I'm sorry to say that it will have to be at another time. I'd really love to help out the Bureau in any way I can, but I have another appointment I'm already twenty minutes behind on."

"That's alright, Dr. Collins. We might be back to ask a few questions later," Mulder assured.

The four of us stood up and walked out through the foyer and back to the office main door. Dr. Collins stood behind the threshold and bid us good day. "It really was nice to see you're doing well," he told me.

* * *

The agents and I were halfway down the stairs to the lobby when I realized I'd forgotten my jacket. I informed Mulder and Scully who told me they'd be waiting in the car.

I raced back up the stairs and cautiously push open Dr. Collins's door. I didn't want to disturb his appointment but I wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible.

I walked quietly to the door of his inner office and was about to enter when I heard hushed voices inside. I stopped in my tracks.

"The plan was that _no one_ would get hurt and definitely that no one would die! You promised me that! They go through the hormonal calming process and then I hand them off to you to have their memories removed. We all get our bags of cash and that's _it_. We never interact with them again."

"Unfortunately, Dr. Collins," came a gravelly voice that sounded acutely familiar, "The plan has changed."

From the crack in the door came the slow wafting of grey smoke and the odor of nicotine.

* * *

Note: Guess what, guys! I finally know where I'm going with this story! Isn't that exciting?

I'm pretty sure this chapter is all good to go but I haven't actually done a final read-thru on it. It's almost 2AM so I'll do that and fix any technical things tomorrow. If you ever see any grammatical errors or spelling issues please, please message me about them. I hate finding errors in my old work and I've tried to comb through it but I'm sure some are still there. Don't be afraid to let me know about them, it's very much appreciated.

Anyway, thank you very much for sticking with me this far. Everything has been going very well recently, but I'm going to have to start doing prep for this up coming school year soon, which means focusing some writing time on that. If my fanfic suffers a bit, I'm sorry, but I'm still going to try to be relatively consistent.

Thanks again for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


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